


The Slave in Idra's Vale

by Macaria_Czol



Series: Random Tales from Coria [6]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Character Death, Double Penetration, Multi, Orgy, Piercings, Sex Toys, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-16 20:13:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12349866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macaria_Czol/pseuds/Macaria_Czol
Summary: Waking up filthy and covered in cum, Quillo tries to work out why he is in trouble in the aftermath of an orgy held by his master the night before.





	1. Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> I am not sure where this is one is going to go. Though, I do know that it will get more graphic as I go along. Just one small titbit that I'd like to put out there, Quill is bi not gay.

Everywhere hurt. His throat was raw, his jaw ached and his entire lower body was an unending source of agony. His loose hole felt lax against the plug that was still cruelly pushed inside him along with the drying cum of the guests his master had made him entertain the night before. 

Shifting slightly, letting out a shattered cry as his back screamed at the movement, Quillo curled up on his side weakly, his lips turning up into a cynical smile as he heard the familiar clink of iron links from the shackles around his ankles. 

So he was in trouble, Quill mused with a tired sigh. Which was curious, as far as he could remember he hadn’t misbehaved during the party last night. Not that his obedience made that much of a difference, no matter what people said to the contrary, he’d learnt that alchemists were at times creatures of sheer whimsy. Something he’d learnt the first day he’d had a collar slipped around his neck and a cock shoved up inside his ass. 

Not that he actually hated the sex, though he wished he did. It would make it far less humiliating if he didn’t squeal and beg wantonly every time someone stuck a dick in his ass. But he did love it, the tender ache of his cock was from the number of times he’d found release during the orgy the night before not because of any abuse he’d suffered. 

His master loved tying up his cock, denying him his release. “You look so beautiful when you are desperate.” He always said as he wrapped the black leather around Quillo’s length. Something which he knew to mean that he looked more desirable when whimpering like a desperate slut. 

Tilting his head downwards, the young slave cast his eyes down the expanse of his bleached white skin, wincing slightly as he saw the mosaic of black and purple bruises that decorated his chest and hips. It had been a very busy party, a feast to honor someone important to the order if he recalled correctly. Not that he could remember who that was.

It had to be important for his master to decide to bring him out for everyone to use. Quillo was under no delusions of his place and worth in the Indra’s Vale. As a pure-bred Lierian, he was the rarest of pleasure slaves and his master would not risk him getting damaged too much. The faint flogging scars on his back from his early days of training and the brand just below his navel were the only marks that he had despite being a slave his entire life. 

Wrinkling his nose as he saw the tried cum still clinging to his inner thighs, Quill found himself getting irritated that he’d actually managed to get himself into enough trouble that he apparently to disgraced to even deserve a bath. He’d be itching soon, he knew that only too well. 

Rolling his pale lavender eyes, and biting down on his full lips to hold back a whimper of pain, he reached up slowly to touch his platinum blond hair, frowning a bit as he found it stiff and crusty. 

Gods, he was literally covered in cum. Not that he really should be that surprised, he could still remember vague flashes of the night before.  
He recalled being bent over a table at one point, an alchemist with blue hair had been fucking his ass hard enough that every thrust had caused his hips to bang against the table, while another had been using his mouth, choking him as he fucked his throat roughly.

Though, the gods alone knew how many times he must have repeated such an act during the party. Still if his memories were to be trusted, he should not have been waking up shackled up in the dark, covered in filth. 

His owner had paid a hefty sum of gold for him and always saw to it that after a party that he was cleaned, healed and given bed rest for at least two days. The small comforts that made his slavery bearable and stopped him from trying to open his wrists like so many other pleasure slaves did, before they gave up hope and merely accepted their place as vessels to be used. 

Quill was always thankful that he had not yet reached that stage of dull eyed obedience, where all trace of a soul seemed to vanish. Rory, one of the human slaves that he had been trained along side, had the theory that it was because of his race that he hadn’t lost his mind. 

It was a sound theory to be fair, at the time of its making, he’d been fingering himself open. Whimpering needily until, he’d managed to get Rory to shut up and hold still long enough for Quill to straddle him. He’d spent countless nights riding Rory for completion after squirming uselessly on unyielding marble cocks and taunting plugs that stretched and filled him, but failed to stroke that spot deep inside him. 

Rory had been a blessing, right up until the day he’d been killed for daring to play with one of their master’s possessions. After that, he’d never taken another lover. His master and his guests were enough, even if their interest in his body was usually for the sake of thankless games rather than mutual please. 

Last night had been a slightly different game, Quil thought as he recalled being prepared for the evening. Not just the usual bath and silks. No, perfumed water and nothing but jewels. He always ended a party naked, but last night had been the first time he’d started one out completely bare. 

Gods, how could he have forgotten for even a second how exposed he’d felt. Wearing nothing but gold piercings through his ears, nipples...and cock. The Lierian fought off a grimace as he thought of his master’s latest gift that he had received a few months before. It had been one of the few times that he’d actually fought. Though his struggles had been in vain as even now, if he glanced down he could see the gold hoop threaded through the head of his cock. 

Still, it had been an odd presentation. He’d gone out plugged as well, a cold plated toy with a base decorated with glinting amethysts. A pretty sight between his tight cheeks, not that he ever saw the attraction. Quill was firmly of the belief that when he wanted to fuck someone, he didn’t want to have to deal with any toys being in the way. He just wanted a nice willing hole that he could sink his fingers into, followed by his cock. 

Stretching his neck and wiggling his toes without groaning too much, the slave carefully started to sit up, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink as he felt cool, tacky cum leak past the the plug in his ass and down his thighs. 

“So my present has finally decided to get up. I really shouldn’t have bet Jerome and Taylor that your ass was capable of taking two cocks at once. The stain of victory was clearly too tiring.” 

The silky, mocking tone washed over him and quickly filled Quillo with ice cold dread. He knew that voice. Turning slowly, the blond stared in silent horror at an alchemist with deadly looking, black eyes. Driscole… Oh gods, he remembered now. Remembered that the feast was in this particular alchemist’s honor. That he had been a given away….

Quillo’s new master gave a dark laugh, the sound of it making the slave wish he could just curl up in a tiny ball and disappear. 

“I will never understand why Simon treated you like some treasure. True you have some worth, but what is the point of expensive pleasure slave if you have to restrain yourself with it.” 

Fear bubbled up in his chest, the urge to gag overwhelming him as the sadist that he now had to call master took a step towards him. This couldn’t be happening to him, it just couldn’t.

“Luckily for you, my desperate little slut. I have no intention of holding back.”


	2. Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst everywhere. I must admit that I am not entirely sure where this chapter was going, but it was fun to write. Unbeta'd as usual. So sorry in advance for typos and spelling errors.

“You’re so beautiful.” The words washed over him like a soothing balm, taking away every ache and pain that plagued him. “I don’t know why you even bother with me.” Cautious fingers ran along his cheekbone, tracing his features lovingly. “But I am glad that you do. I love you, you know?” 

Quillo’s eyes felt as heavy as lead, but as he took in those awed words, he forced them open. Eyelids parting slightly, he took in the blurry view that greeted him quietly until it slowly cleared, revealing a face inches from his own. Stick-straight, black hair, sky blue eyes and thin lips that were far softer than they looked. 

“Rory.” The blond whispered in disbelief as he looked up at his best friend. Instinctively reaching out for him, the Lierian gave a disgruntled whimper as he found himself unable to move his hands. 

“Ah-ah.” Rory laughed, grinning teasingly down at Quill as he ran his fingers over his face, before cupping his cheek. “My turn to be in charge.” 

Flushing slightly, Quill squirmed against the bonds that held him down. Stealing a glance up at his bound hands, he couldn’t resist giggling at the sight of the iron cuffs around his slender wrists. Rory was serious about his claim of being in charge then. Quill could not believe his cautious lover would go so far as to take any of the master’s toys. 

“Oh, is that so?” He mumbled, his lavender eyes lighting up with mirth as he rolled his hips up against Rory, “Have I not been taking care of you properly?” Quill teased, as he felt the hard length of Rory’s cock against his inner thigh. Though, he could not deny the faint twinge of pain his own words stirred up inside him. They had not been together properly in ages. Their master, Simon, had developed a fondness for him, which saw Quill spending most of his time in his bedchamber rather than in the slave quarters. 

“You always take care of me.” Rory stated firmly, his eyes flashing as he ground against Quill. “I choose you, just like you choose me.” He added, leaning down, his lips grazing tauntingly over Quill’s. It was not enough, Quill thought as he tugged at the cuffs again with more force. He needed more. It had been too long since he had felt Rory on him, in him…He knew that he would never get enough of him as long as he lived. 

“Greedy.” Rory whispered, against the curve of his ear, his lips soon wandering down the curve of Quill’s jaw, littering it with gentle kisses. “You can never wait.” He laughed, his cheeks dimpling in a way that made Quill hurt. Rory did not laugh enough anymore. Not since their training had officially ended. He didn’t like the fact that Simon had chosen Quillo as his favourite. What made it worse was that Quill knew that Rory’s anger was not some form of jealousy or possessiveness. Rather it was just that he hated that they had no choice. It was a slave’s lot in life. But it had been much easier for them to accept it before they fell for each other. 

Quillo had always known his body was not his own nor would it ever be. He hadn’t cared. Sex was sex and his body was made for sex. His people worshipped sex, even though he had never been a part of his people, it was common knowledge that even he managed to know of. 

It had made everything so much easier for him, right up until he had fallen in love. 

“I love you.” He whispered, trying and failing to reach out for Rory again. “And love just happens to be greedy. At least mine is.” Quill laughed softly, a shiver running down his spine as he felt Rory’s fingers brush over his nipples, toying with his piercings as they did so. 

“And I love that it is.” Rory reassured him, as he stretched out over Quill. His long, tan body dwarfing Quill’s pale form. They were as different as two people could ever be, but secretly Quill thought that is what made them perfect together. It also made him imagine what it would be like to be able to dream of being together. Free to plan a future or simply to have freedom. 

Quill gasped, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain. He hadn’t known that emotions could inflict just as much pain as a whip until he’d fallen for Rory. Sometimes he hated it, but those times were far outnumbered by moments like this, when all he could do was bask in Rory’s presence. 

“Did I hurt you?” Quill forced his eyes open at Rory’s concerned tone and looked down at his lover with a fond smile. 

“Of course not. You had better not stop.” He muttered, wiggling his hips as his ass clenched around the fingers that Rory had pushed into him. It was amazing, he thought shivering more as he was stretched open carefully. Though, he could barely start enjoying the feeling when Rory suddenly stopped. 

“It’s too much.” Rory repeated, making Quill frown. He couldn’t believe that Rory was thinking of stopping. They had not been together in so long that it actually hurt. 

“No! I need more, Rory. I need you.” Quill blurted out, pushing himself back against Rory wantonly. “Please.” He pleaded, tugging at his bonds with actual force, suddenly desperate to hold his lover. “I need you.” He repeated, shivering more. 

He broke free in a flash of pain. Unthinkingly, he reached out for Rory. His eyes grew wide as instead of feeling the solid, reassuring heat of his lover, all his fingers were greeted with was air. 

“What?” Quillo’s brow furrowed in confusion as he stared in disbelief at his left hand. His thumb hung at an odd angle, clearly dislocated, while the rest of his hand was a mess. His skin hung in torn, bloody shreds, while the bones of his knuckles still managed to gleam up at him through the gore. Not that he cared. He couldn’t care, not when Rory was leaving. 

Thrashing against the cuff that still bound his ankles and right arm, the shivering slave tried to follow the fading form of his lover. Slowly reality started to sink in. 

He was on a chair, in a stone room. There was something inside him…He didn’t know what. Quill’s lungs started to burn as he fought to draw in a breath of air. Blood pounded in his ears and his heart was fluttering wildly. 

Everything hurt. Why did everything hurt? He couldn’t think.

“Interesting, you lasted far longer than I thought you would.” Driscole’s cold voice managed to reach Quillo even through his panic. “I have known man far stronger than you to break under such an enchantment.” Laughing sinisterly, the alchemist approached the struggling slave. His black eyes held no mercy as he placed his hand against Quill’s head. “Now, sleep.” 

Instantly, Quillo felt himself go limp as he fell unconscious. Darkness consumed him, as he remembered far too late that he could not touch Rory anymore.


	3. Knife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Knife play and possible castration. This is a short and awful addition.

It was odd how normal Driscoll looked for an alchemist. It was a random thought, but it wedged itself firmly in Quill’s brain and he could not dislodge it. Most alchemists were bright and colourful with hair every colour of the rainbow and skin that were tones that did not naturally occur in people. He remembered the paintings of the amazingly plumed birds that used to decorate his old master’s chambers and he found himself considering that alchemists had more in common with them than mere human beings. Well, all of them except Driscoll, which is what the man even more disturbing. 

Head lolling limply to the side, the spread-out slave stared at his master with glazed eyes. Blond hair and golden skin, typical of any Immarian. Except for the eyes, Quill thought dimly as he watched Driscoll surveying the various instruments laid out on the table. Carefully, the alchemist picked up a blade and tested the sharpness of its edge with his finger. And just like the previous three knives, he found it lacking and set back down. His black eyes merciless as gave Quillo a cursory glance before returning his attention back to his instruments of torture. 

If he had any energy left in him, the Lierian would have laughed at his unthinking joke. Because being carved into by Driscoll wasn’t actually the torture. Being tied down, spread eagled on a cold slab, watching and waiting for his master to choose how to torture him was the true torture. 

In the two weeks, at least he thought it was two weeks but he couldn’t really be sure due to the amount of time he spent blacked-out, since he had been given to Driscoll, he’d learnt that the alchemist preferred mental torture over physical torture. Though, the man clearly got off on both. Nothing like belonging to a Sadist, Quillo reflected as he watched him pick up a glinting sliver knife. 

This one was clearly different to the others. It was small, but its blade gleamed with malicious intent. Dread coiled in his belly as he stared fixated at the knife. He was going to scream; his throat was already aching from the phantom shrieks that lay ahead of him. This was going to be a new game, he realized as the alchemist slowly, but deliberately approached him. So far, Driscoll had not drawn blood from him. 

All of Quill’s injuries had been caused by himself and his own mind, which had become a wicked traitor. Unthinkingly, he clenched his fists. The action causing pain to lace down his arm as his torn hand pulled tight, ripping open his numerous scabs. It was because of his fight during the enchantment that had lead to this. Driscoll was trying to test him, trying to see what would break him properly. 

Truth be told, he wished he had already broken. Yet, even as he thought that he found himself rebelling against it. He couldn’t break, becoming a blank-eyed slave would be a fate worse than death. He had to survive as he was, he had promised Rory that he would. Nothing would break him, change him and that meant he couldn’t give up his long held need to live, to fight and dream of freedom. If he didn’t stay that way, he would not be the same when he met Rory again. But, there was no denying that his own resolve was yet just another form of torture. 

“You are always so silent. I find it intriguing.” Driscoll spoke, his oily tones making Quill shiver as the alchemist’s robe brushed against his thigh. “So many slaves would be begging by now. Unless there is nothing left in them.”  
There was a long, heavy pause as their eyes met. Uncaring black meeting unwavering lilac.

“That is not the case with you.” Driscoll stated flatly, pressing the blade into Quill’s inner thigh and dragging it down. Sharp, clawing pain spread through him as bright red blood welled to the surface of his skin. 

“No, there is just too much still in you. But do not worry, I will find and remove everything.” The alchemist hissed, his blade swivelling and arching out in a graceful curve over the slave’s skin, forcing the first uncontrolled scream from Quill’s throat. 

Time ceased to exist, and all that matter was the pain that consumed his lower body. Maybe this would kill him, he thought sluggishly. If he was killed by another it wouldn’t mean he had caved and he would still be his whole self when he was reunited with his lover. Yet, as his shrieks echoed around the room and bounced off the stone walls, he couldn’t help but realise that there would be no end. Ending it was not a part of Driscoll’s plan. 

Suddenly, through the pain, he felt the teasing drag of the knife up his crease, until it came to a rest against the smooth underside of his balls. Everything faded away until nothing existed except the pressure of metal against his flesh. 

“Now, now.” Driscoll cooed. “Why are you not screaming for me?”

Quillo screamed.


	4. Broken?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am alive! And I have also updated my tags so be warned. I hope you enjoy my update and if you are enjoying the world that Quillo's story takes place in, do read the work that inspired it - https://archiveofourown.org/works/15302394/chapters/35501166
> 
> And without further ado, the continued torture of poor Quill. 
> 
> P.S. Unbeta'd as usual and I think I may need to edit it more, hopefully it won't be too bad.

Rory had once joked that there was nothing in the world that Quillo loved more than his own reflection. There was some truth to the joke, however, Quill had always been quick to defend himself. Yes, he did indulge when he had the rare opportunity to see his own reflection. But, that did not mean that his looks meant anything to him beyond simple fascination. 

After all, he had Rory, who meant more to him than the breath in his own lungs. An answer that always made the other blush so prettily. 

However, now, Quillo could not bear the idea of seeing himself. He no longer attempted to steal glances in the ornate mirrors that decorated so many alchemists’ houses. He avoided fleeting glimpses in shining metal or still water. For ever since he had awoken from his last session with Driscoll, Quill had finally realized how broken he actually was and he could not stand seeing the evidence. 

He remembered parties where he’d been praised as the most stunning bed slave in the entire Vale and despite his position, such praise had gone to his head. He may not have cared about being beautiful, but he knew that it was what he was. Pretty and loved, a rare position for a slave to be in. If only he had known how cruel fate could, he may have treasured those brief moments even more.

Now there was nothing left of his happiness or beauty, Driscoll had carved it out of him. Quillo knew this because he had made the mistake of glancing at his reflection as he lay prone in his master’s bed. 

He hadn’t recognised the face staring back at him, which had left him weeping more bitterly and heartbrokenly than any of Driscoll’s other mind games ever had. He was himself no more. 

His once perfect skin was riddled with deep, red groves and pinking scabs that promised to become silver scars. His master’s name decorated his inner thigh leaving no doubt as to who he belonged to. His eyes were dull and sunken in, dark shadows making him look gravely ill when coupled with his new gauntness and sallow complexion. 

It was the crisp white bindings around his cock that had really shaken him. Mainly because Quill had not expected such a sight. He had expected Driscoll to have taken clean off. He had threatened to, and he remembered enough pain to know that his sadistic master had started the task. 

Maybe it was another game. Perhaps there was really nothing there and the bandage was some twisted trick. But in the hours that slipped past with agonising slowness, the slave had not been able to bring himself to inspect it properly. His hands were unchained for once, yet they remained frozen against the bed-sheets. He could not bring himself to reach down and confirm what else Driscoll had taken from him.

He was broken, Quill thought as he lay there, his heart racing as he started to panic. Despite his vow to Rory, he was no longer whole. He didn’t need to touch himself to know that. His breath left him in panicked huffs as his heart raced frantically. 

He was broken. 

He was broken. 

He was broken. 

“Really…You are simply going to lie there.” A cool, unpassionate voice reached Quillo through his panic.

The familiar tone causing his panic to dissolve and instead be replaced by fear. Wrenching his eyes open, Quill slowly turned his head on the pillow and stared at the dominating figure of his master. 

Driscoll sat in a chair a good two feet away from the bed, a worn red leather tome lying open on his lap, momentarily ignored as the alchemist studied his slave with mild interest. 

“I gave you the ideal opportunity to come to terms with the results from our last session, and yet, you have done nothing but lie there for the last three hours. How dull.” The alchemist sighed, his black eyes giving nothing away as he closed the book he had been reading. 

“Worse still,” Driscoll continued, standing up and smoothing the black robe he wore lazily before stalking slowly towards the bed. “Despite my best efforts, I seem not to have gotten through to you yet.”

Quillo remained silent, his gaze frozen on the Driscoll’s face. He couldn’t respond even if he wanted to, even though he was free he felt like he was bound and gagged. Like all prey must feel when successfully cornered by a predator, the slave thought dimly. 

“Perhaps I will have to spell it out for you, but even then, I doubt you would be able to accept reality. Your walls are strong.” He said, closing the distance between them and leaning over the bed. 

Even if he’d had the energy, Quill did not think he would have tried to avoid Driscoll’s touch. He had reached the point where fighting felt truly useless. Maybe it was just time to accept the whims of his master.  
Wide-eyed, he let out a soft hiss of pain as Driscoll reached for the binding between Quill’s legs and removed it in a quick clinical movement. 

“Although, it may be my own fault for deciding not to waste all my fun in one go.” He added, dropping the bandage to the floor. 

Quillo didn’t resist as Driscoll’s long, cold fingers gripped his chin and forced him to look down at the alchemist’s handiwork.

It wasn’t gone. Relief surged through Quillo as he looked at his cock. It had not been spared from Driscoll’s sadistic pleasures. Shallow cuts decorated his entire length, his foreskin…was gone he realized slowly as he took in the line of stitches that decorated he head of his shaft. Yet, he couldn’t really bring himself to feel dismayed. After all, it was still there. Driscoll had not unmanned him after all. 

“I am going to decorate more someday.” Driscoll promised, his voice silky as he stroked his hand down Quillo’s mutilated length. “A single piercing is not nearly enough, and I do need to replace the one I removed during our little game.” 

Driscoll’s words continued to wash over him, but Quillo had no idea what the man was saying. His world had shrunk down to nothing, but the careful stroke of his master’s fingers against his aching flesh and the knowledge that he would endure it all again. 

Quillo must have slipped into a bit of a trance because he was totally unprepared for Driscoll’s next move. He let out a startled cry as he suddenly found himself being rolled over onto his front, the mattress dipping under Driscoll’s weight as he joined the slave on the bed. 

“One day, I think I may find your delusions far too irritating to handle.” Driscoll muttered cryptically, causing Quill to furrow his brow in confusion. However, he couldn’t focus on the man’s words for too long as he was far too aware of the alchemist crouched behind him. Long fingers splayed over his taunt buttcheeks. 

“But not just yet, because I still hope to make your walls shatter. And when that happens.” Driscoll drawled, spreading Quillo’s cheeks to expose his pink hole. “When that happens, our fun will really start.”

“Oh, and I advise you stay soft during this little slut. Or it will hurt.” The alchemist mocked gently as a new round of the game started.  
I hate him, Quill thought bitterly and repeatedly as he felt Driscoll teasing his entrance with unusually gentle fingers. Slowly a single finger dipped inside his tight hole, stretching him slowly. Another eventually joined, slick with oil. The feeling made Quill gasp, as his cock started to harden causing it to throb in agony.

It was a crueller game than any others because the Lierian had quickly realised that it would be through gentleness that Driscoll would hurt him. The contradictory nature of his master’s actions and their results making his head spin.

“I see you are not listening to my advice.” Driscoll said flatly, as continued to stretch Quillo’s passage, deliberately seeking out ways to force reluctant and desperate whimpers from the slave beneath him. 

“Such a shame. Never say I am not kind to you sometimes, slut.”

Quillo gave a ragged wail in response, burying his face into the pillow below him as Driscoll pulled his fingers out and replaced them with his cock. His fingers dug into the sheets as he felt Driscoll sink deeper and deeper into him, his muscles clutching at the alchemist’s long length. The stretch was slow, and Driscoll kept pausing every so often, giving Quill time to adjust. 

It was the worst thing he had ever experienced. His pleasure tainted by the pain his erection pulling at the stitches held his cut skin together. Eventually, Driscoll bottomed out inside him and began thrusting in and out of him carefully. The angle of his hips making certain that every thrust had Quillo simultaneously crying out in pleasure and agony. 

“Please.” He finally begged, speaking for the first time as the sound of bare flesh hitting bare flesh echoed throughout the room. “Please, stop.” Quillo managed to plead between the panting sobs that were emerging from him. Hot tears tracking down his face as felt himself quickly approaching the end. 

“Mmm, not yet.” Came Driscoll’s cool reply as he buried himself in Quillo to the hilt. “Now come for me.” He hissed, licking the slave’s salty tears before thrusting with renewed vigour. 

They did not keep up this new pace for long. With a shriek, Quill came, his flesh tearing as his stitches broke. And as he lay in a sobbing mess beneath Driscoll, he became aware of the alchemist’s cum cooling inside and the hot drip of his own blood running down his shaft. 

Gods…it just needs to end.


	5. Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a while, but I am back with an update. It is a quick one that is light on smut and heavy on plot. I hope you enjoy. As I think I have said before, I never really had a plan with this story, but I do think that the end is close.

Quillo shivered and bit down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, but he managed to remain silent as the door to the dungeon swept open with a dull thud. The metallic hint of nickel against his tongue was a victory of sorts, he hated the idea of letting Driscoll hear him. The alchemist would not get the satisfaction of knowing how deep inside Quill's head he was. Though he was there, Quillo couldn't close his eyes without seeing him, always there, always taunting him. 

"I hate you." 

The words were short and simple, yet the hissed loathing in them made them feel like a slap to the face. 

Quillo blinked, his face a picture of confusion as he stared up at his master. This wasn't normal. Not that he could really claim to know what normal was, but Driscoll's behaviour had been beyond erratic since the day before when he had, without any warning, returned Quillo to the cell he'd been in on his first day in the alchemist's ownership. 

"I hate you," Driscoll repeated, his voice dripping with disdain as he crouched down in front of the baffled slave. "I have hated you for decades with every fibre of my being." He continued, reaching out to cup Quill's chin and forcing him to meet his gaze. Driscoll's eyes crackled with burning rage. 

Hate...decades...Quillo's mind reeled as he tried to decipher Driscoll's words. None of this made sense, what game was this?

Driscoll let out a dry laugh, shaking his head at Quillo in despair. 

"And you don't even know why." He laughed again, before abruptly yanking Quillo closer. "Your mind is an impressive thing to behold, little slut. The things it has done to save your sanity is remarkable."

“Wh-hat?” He finally managed to spit out. This was madness, true insanity, Quillo realized as he studied Driscoll’s face. There was no game now. This wasn’t about him being shackled naked to a dungeon floor or about the plug that his master had been keeping inside him and toying with for longer than he could count. No, this wasn’t about sex, if what happened between them could even described as such, this was something else. Something more. 

“Yes, Quillo. What? You don’t know what, do you? No, of course you don’t. Knowing would destroy that beautiful reality you have created.” Driscoll drawled, his eyes flashing angrily.   
“So I am going to tell you a story, my dear, dreadful slave.” He ground out through gritted teeth before roughly letting go of Quill. The action causing the tiny Lierian to hit the floor with a crack, a bruise immediately blooming on his chin. 

“Once there was alchemist.” Driscoll began, straightening up and taking a step away from his slave. “A truly great master of untold skill. And he owned a slave, though in truth it would be more accurate to say that the slave owned him.” 

Unbidden dread settled heavily in the pit of Quill’s stomach. He wasn’t meant to hear this. 

“You see, the alchemist had become obsessed with his pretty little toy and forgot that he was his possession.” Driscoll paused, his eye somehow growing darker. “The master fell in love and became a slave to his pet’s every whim and desire. All he was revolved around his bewitching lover and it brought about his destruction”

He shouldn’t be hearing this, Quillo thought, his body becoming frantic as he started struggling uselessly against his shackles. His temples began to throb.

“Alchemists live forever.” Driscoll continued, his voice filled with cold satisfaction as he watched Quillo thrash. “So he made certain that his slave would live forever as well.” 

No! Quillo’s mind screamed. 

“No.” The sound escaped him, his eyes wide as he screamed, feral and uncontrollable. He was not meant to know this. Unbidden the memories hit him, the smell of sulphur and blood, his body twisting unnaturally as his mortally was taken from him. 

The dark spectre of his master approached him again. Rough fingers curled in his blond locks and yanked him up harshly. 

“There was no Rory, slut. Only Master Roderick and you destroyed him.” Driscoll hissed, eyes burning with renewed rage. 

“My brother.” 

The words hung heavily between them as the walls that Quillo had carefully built came tumbling down.


End file.
